Keeper's Kiss
by Widu
Summary: Why does Isabela threaten to do something nasty to Hawke for leading Merrill along? Well, there's only one way to find out.


**Keeper's Kiss**

Whistling a Fereldan folk tune, Gaelen Hawke left the Hanged Man and walked into the dusty streets of afternoon Kirkwall. From the corner of his eye he noticed a shadow detach itself from a dark corner behind some stacked ale barrels. Their smell was hardly better than the actual product, and a whole day in the sun had done nothing to improve it.

Before he could draw his weapons, a strong, dusky arm wrapped itself around his throat. "Hello, Hawke," Isabela purred into his ear.

"Well hello to you too," Hawke replied. He disentangled himself from her grip and straightened his tunic. His puzzled grin faded as he saw her grim expression. "What's wrong?"

She poked him in the chest with the hand not holding a cutlass. "Fun is fun and all, but Merrill is a sweet girl with a good heart. If you don't have feelings for her, you shouldn't be leading her on. In fact, if you keep doing that, I'll cut off your balls."

He stared at her as if he was watching Knight-Commander Meredith do Carver's jig in a frilly pink skirt. "I'm doing what now?"

She blinked. "You're lying, right? No, I can tell, you´re good, but not _that_ good. Shit." She sheathed her blade. "I may have run ahead of things. Any chance you can forget what I just said?"

"About you cutting off…? Yes please."

She patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Hawke. Have a nice day."

Still nonplussed, he was about to return to the Hawke estate when he changed his mind, doubled back and walked to the elven alienage. Merrill was pleased to see him as always. They talked about alienage life for a while, their next planned adventure, and the litter of tabby kittens growing up in the marketplace and learning to meow.

Hawke felt guilty for ambushing her like this, but he had to know. "So," he said conversationally, "do you have any idea why Isabela just threatened to cut off my balls?"

Merrill nearly sprayed her sip of lemonade all over the table. "Elgar'nan, why would she do that? I thought she liked you! And your, uh, parts too on occasion, although she said that was only for fun."

"She's quite protective."

"I know about horses and dogs and cats," she said, confused, "but how in the name of the Creators is she protecting you by cutting bits off of you?"

Hawke sighed. "Not protecting _me_. _You_. Think about it."

"Oh dear." Underneath her Dalish facial tattoos, she suddenly blushed deeply. "She may have misunderstood something I said."

"Such as?"

"Er." She tugged at her green scarf and swallowed. "Is it warm in here? Do you think it's warm in here?"

"I am sweating a little, yes," Hawke remarked dryly. "Threats of being neutered tend to do that."

The reply cascaded out of her like water through her roof during heavy rainfall. "I might have mentioned I enjoy watching you. More than once, even. And you're so nice to me, you're nice to everyone. Well, not to skeletons and things, and sometimes people get cross with you..."

"Oh, Merrill…"

She threw up her palms defensively. "Now don't worry, I'm not going to do anything with it. I think you and Anders are adorable together."

Hawke shook his head, torn between baffled surprise, compassion and a sudden unbidden vision of Isabela holding one of her very, very sharp knives. He settled for a stifled groan. "What is it with the women in my life? And that includes my mother who by the way is still looking to fix me up with a wife!"

"Oh, that. That's just because she wants you to have cute little noble Hawkes," Merrill said helpfully. She continued, oblivious of Hawke's stricken expression. "The Dalish are much the same. They are quite driven in making sure there'll be more elves."

"That is some serious frolicking," Hawke said weakly.

"Oh yes. In fact there were three elves in my old clan who liked each other very much, even if you could only call two of them married. They had no problems procreating either, actually, between the three of them they had-"

"Merrill." Hawke interrupted her, a note of urgency creeping into his voice. "Merrill, this is important. _My mother can never know this_."

"Oh, I'm sure she already does. She ran off with your father after all while being promised to some noble human, didn't she? …oh. Sorry."

"Nevermind. I can only hope she's not actually choosing a wife who matches my lover. Yet. So why is Isabela so worried about you?"

Merrill busied herself with a very intense study of her feet. She'd painted her toenails, Hawke noticed. "Nothing, except maybe that I wondered what it'd feel like to kiss you."

"Wait. What?"

"You did ask!" She now blushed to the tips of her delicately pointed ears.

"I don't think that'd be wise," he finally managed. "I like you. I care for you, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you."

She gave him that look again, a look that was a lot older than she was, full of knowing sadness. "I'm a blood mage, Hawke," she said wryly. "I don't hurt that easily."

She was quite beautiful as she stood there, with her luminous green eyes and wistful smile. Beautiful, and lonely, and hopeful in all her repentant awkwardness. She might feel flustered and guilty for the trouble she caused him, she was unashamed of her actual feelings.

Oh well. He'd never heard a mabari complain about castration – how bad could it be? He lightly put his hands on her shoulders. "As your friend," he said softly, "and just this once."

"Only once, I promise."

He lifted her chin and kissed her, more gently than passionately. She responded equally, exploring and caressing rather than teasing him. It was Merrill who broke the kiss, eyes closed, a smile creasing her lips.

Because he couldn't help himself, he hugged her and she rested her raven-haired head against his chest for a moment. "That was wonderful," she whispered contentedly into his shirt pocket.

"Out of curiosity," he murmured, "why did you want that?"

She pulled free of him, her green eyes brilliant. "To remember. That is a Keeper's duty, after all."


End file.
